


Talking to a Ghost

by kitkatkaylie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark, Robb Stark is King in the North, violence mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Reek had been Bad and now he must explain himself to a ghost.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	Talking to a Ghost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [procellous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/procellous/gifts).



There was blood on Reek’s hands. 

This was not unusual. What was unusual was that the blood was not his own. What was even stranger was that the blood belonged to his master.

Reek was not supposed to hurt his master. Reek was not supposed to  _ touch _ his master unless told to. 

But he had hurt him. 

He had leapt at him and pressed his fingers deep deep deep into Master’s eyes until he felt something hard at the back. 

His teeth had gone into Master’s throat and they had bitten down down down and torn until Master’s screams had stopped. 

Reek had been Bad. 

His master lay on the floor with blood pooling around him. He was still. As still as the head that lay next to him. 

The head which was to blame for Reek being Bad. 

Master had been taunting Reek with the head. He has told him that the head had belonged to a king once, that it had belonged to yet another person Reek had betrayed. And something had risen in Reek’s chest at the taunts, at the admission that master and his father had planned the king’s death. Something inside him had snapped. 

Glazed blue eyes stared up at him accusingly as Reek stared at the head, its red curls spread across the floor, touching the filth. They shouldn’t ever have to have been dirty, they should have gleamed in the soft sunlight, snowflakes melting into them. 

Reek dropped to his knees besides the head. It consumed his vision, his master somehow forgotten. His bloody hands reached out and gently, as though he was holding a scared kitten, he picked up the head and cradled it to his chest. 

It was surprisingly heavy. And Reek’s weak arms nearly gave out but he did not drop it. He could never drop it. 

Not when the sight of Robb’s head had been enough to make him kill his master. 

Reek curled himself over the head and cried. He cried for the loss of the man he had loved and then betrayed; he cried for what his betrayal had meant; he even cried for the death of his master. 

After all: what was a dog without his owner?

* * *

The sight of Winterfell soothed something in Robb’s soul which had been agitated since he had left it to go to war. Soothes something which had been in pain since he had heard his best friend and the man he had loved had stolen it from him.

No banners flew above the gates, neither the Bolton Cross he had expected or the Stark Direwolf he longed to see. It was strange, for a keep without banners was a keep without people, and yet the smoke of cookfires rose from the chimneys as it always had. 

His men behind him shifted, wary of a trap of some sorts set about by the Boltons and Robb did not blame them. He had kept Sansa in the centre of the column for that exact reason, surrounded by those of the Vale he trusted the most to keep her safe. It would have been safer to leave her in the Eyrie perhaps, safer to calm for her once Winterfell had been retaken, and yet he could not bring himself to part from her again. 

The gates of Winterfell opened, and a young boy ran out, a white cloth in his arms. 

“Milord! Milord!” He cried out, stopping a safe distance from the column, “Winterfell is yours again milord! We’ve been waiting for you and not letting anyone else in since Lord Ramsay died milord!” 

Robb blinked. He could not think of the right words to say. Surely this was a crude trap, one so obvious that the Boltons were merely clutching at straws to try and defend the castle they had stolen. 

And yet- 

“Tell me boy,” Robb said brusquely but kindly, “How did Ramsay Snow die? And who is in charge in Winterfell as we speak?” 

“His pet milord, Reek killed him. And Hilde is in charge! She says we are to keep the castle ready for your return!” 

Robb did not recognise the name ‘Reek’, but he found he could only hope that the man or woman was still alive so that he could reward them for killing the bastard of Bolton. He knew Hilde though, she had been one of the cooks, the one who had always snuck he and Jon and the Traitor extra cakes when they visited the kitchens after dinner. He doubted that any of the Boltons would know such a thing, doubted that they would know that he trusted Hilde. 

“I see.” Robb said slowly, “Very well. Go back and tell them to open the gates wide and to assemble in the yard so that I might greet them all.”

The boy bowed and ran as fast as he could back to the castle. 

“You don’t trust them, do you, Your Grace?” His uncle asked with concern, “You know this is most likely a trap?” 

“Aye, but it might not be. And we have no other choice. I will not go alone, that would be folly, I shall be surrounded by my guard, with enough men entering the yard that any attempt at ambush would fail.” 

His uncle bowed and moved to direct the men, an expression of disapproval on his face. Robb didn’t know what his uncle wanted him to do, they had no other option. Lately it seemed that the only one he couldn’t disappoint with his choices was Sansa.

He waited as the bustle of men preparing went on around him, waited until the new formation was fully arranged, and then gave the order for them to move out. He could hardly contain his excitement at seeing Winterfell again, at being home again.

Slowly they entered through those aged gates, into the familiar courtyard formed from ancient stones. There were no armed men, no sign of an ambush. Instead familiar faces awaited them there, perhaps a little different in appearance from when last they met, but familiar all the same. And there at the centre, in the place where Father had once stood to greet a king, stood Hilde.

Hilde had hardly changed, a few more lines in her face and a few more grey hairs perhaps, but her flour covered apron and sensible braid were just as Robb remembered. 

He could not help himself, he swung off his horse and crossed the courtyard in a few long strides, uncaring of the way people dropped to their knees around him. No, instead he pulled this remnant of his childhood, this reminder of happier times into his arms the same way he had embraced her as a boy when he had just been given an extra blackberry tart.

She startled, and then her arms wrapped around him. “It’s good to see you so well, milord.” She said softly, “When we heard about the wedding we feared the worst.”

Robb let go and stepped back, “I very nearly was.” He admitted ruefully, “It is merely luck that I was not killed alongside my mother.”

Hilde tutted, a soft click of her tongue, and she looked like she wished to pull him into a hug again. 

“Sansa will be pleased to see you.” Robb confided, “She’ll be pleased to know that not everything has changed.”

“Lady Sansa is here?” Hilde’s face lit up, “We had heard nothing of her since rumours she killed the king. We all feared the worst.”

“Sansa is the reason I am here. The reason I have an army, she convinced the Vale to join our cause.” 

Pride crossed the faces of many around them, a joy at the knowledge that the beloved daughter of their beloved former lord had survived.

“I shall ensure that rooms are prepared for Lady Sansa immediately.” Hilde said with a nod, “And welcome home milord.”

“Thank you Hilde.” Robb smiled at her, “But please, how was it you came to be in charge of Winterfell.”

Hilde’s face twisted into an unreadable expression, “That, milord, is a question better answered once you have seen the man who killed Lord Ramsay.”

* * *

There was a ghost before Reek. A ghost who had somehow regained his head. The head that had been taken from him weeks ago.

The ghost didn’t look angry though, it looked sad. Reek had not expected that, he thought the ghost would be angry indeed. 

It was a little strange though, Hilde could see the ghost as well. And Hilde wasn’t mad like Reek, so she shouldn’t have been able to see him. 

Reek fell to his knees and stretched out his neck. The ghost would want to take his head, and Reek would not complain. He deserved it. 

“Milord, ‘m sorry milord.” Reek rasped.

The ghost bent down, leaning on his knees so he could look Reek in the eyes.

“I have questions for you. Do you know who I am?”

Reek let out a low whine, he didn’t understand why the ghost was talking to him. He answered all the same.

“Robb.” 

The ghost smiled slightly, “That’s right. Do you know your name?” 

Reek knew this one now. He’d had a lot of practice at answering this question.

“Reek! My name is Reek. It rhymes with freak and weak and meek. Reek.”

His excitement and knowing this answer faded when he saw the sad look in the ghost’s eyes. Had he answered wrong? 

“I have one final question for you.” The ghost said sadly, “Why did you kill Ramsay Snow?”

Reek started to tremble. He didn’t like remembering being Bad. He had to answer the ghost though. He had no choice.

“Master- master was telling Reek about- about the plot at the Twins and he- he had a bag.” Reek rocked himself in place and pulled at his hair with his hands in distress, “And he had a head with him and he gave it to Reek and it was  _ your _ head!”

He peered up at the ghost with fear, did his words displease the ghost? 

“Go on.” The ghost said patiently, “What happened after you were given the head?”

“Reek- Reek looked down at the head and he was Bad. He didn’t like Master’s smile because Master shouldn’t smile at your death because you are good and kind and you died thinking that your brothers were dead when they aren’t. Reek hurt master and master wouldn’t stop screaming and it hurt Reek’s ears so Reek made him stop. And then Reek found Hilde because she always knows what to do and she put Reek here.”

His last words left his mouth in a rush all at once. He just wanted them gone so he didn’t have to think about the blood and the screams again.

Then the ghost did something strange. He lowered himself further, so that he was kneeling across from Reek. And slowly he pulled Reek into his arms. 

Reek tensed at first, it was bad luck to be touched by a ghost, but then he relaxed into the warmth and the hold. It had been a long time since he had been warm. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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